


Second base

by thesecretarchivist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretarchivist/pseuds/thesecretarchivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, please. I want you to stay the night."<br/>"Liar."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second base

**Author's Note:**

> No plot, just shameless fluff.  
> Ties in with "Darkness Visible".

Ren had his arm around him.

Hux noticed it the moment he woke, or maybe he woke _because_ of this arm, because of the strange intensity that arm conveyed. Ren's arm was strong, pale, _naked_ , and Hux did not much care for naked things in his bed. Not when it came to sleeping – nakedness implied other things, distracting things, it was _natural_ , bordering on _base_ , it defied Hux's sense of order. But Ren was all about defying order, messing up the fundaments of existence, had even succeeded to mess up the fundaments of _Hux's_ existence, so in a way, it did make sense.

And now his arm.

It was not a hug, really.

It was Ren clinging to him, not unpleasantly, just unexpected.

Ren was not the clingy type. He was the prickly type, really, there and gone again, he had to be pinned down, fought and subdued to keep him in one place. And then, in one of his rare agreeable moods, he might just fall asleep next to you.

Neither of them, Hux mused as he pretended to be asleep, neither of them was the cuddly type.

Even now, with Ren's arm around his waist, Hux wanted to twist away, to subtly slide out from under this not-really-a-hug. It was hopeless, though, since he was on his back, and Ren, lying on his side, had not only slid an arm around Hux but also pressed his face against Hux's shoulder, breathing warm and moist into his crisp pajama shirt.

Like an _animal_.

Hux lay still, eyes open, and stared at the bulkhead above him.

Until he noticed the breathing had stopped.

Not stopped as such, just moved away.

"Hux?"

He did not react. Speaking seemed cumbersome, embarrassing in the given situation. Why would he talk to Kylo Ren, in bed, with Kylo Ren clinging to him like a drowning rat?

The mattress shifted.

He could feel Ren looking down on him, propped on his elbow, but he did not look up. He did not close his eyes, either, just stared ahead, willing the issue to go away.

Ren sounded sleepy. "Hux." And then, out of nowhere – "Bren?"

It was like falling backwards in time.

Only a handful of people had ever called him by that name, and he had not heard it in a long time. How Ren came to know it, whether he had dragged it up from a memory when snooping around in Hux's head, or whether it was just an easy guess, Hux did not know. Hearing it now, in Ren's dark voice, had the most astounding effect.

It made him feel like his father.

Not Brendol Hux, the Commandant, feared and revered, the way Hux usually remembered him. He felt like Brendol Hux, the man, in one of the rare moments when there had been gentleness between his parents, a reluctant intimacy. Not physical intimacy, he had never witnessed anything like that, but at least human contact, framed in kind words. For the first time in years – Hux thought: in _decades_ ‑ he remembered his father's face, lighting up with a kind of distant longing as he looked at his wife, blue eyes shining with hope and humility. The faintest smile on his lips, and a different woman might have hugged him, kissed him, perhaps. From a different woman, he might have been able to accept it. But then again, Hux's father had not been the cuddly type, either.

He felt Ren stretch out next to him again.

"I woke you."

"Never mind."

Ren was silent. Then – "You're angry at me. Why?"

Hux closed his eyes. It was strange to think how much of his father was really him, or the other way round, all things considered. He had his father's ambition. He had his hair, and certainly his voice. And when it came to relationships - He was older now than his father at the birth of his eldest son, and lonelier than his father had ever been.

_Or maybe not quite._

"I'm not", he said. "Not angry."

"And I am not snooping. For the record."

That made him smile. "I know you're not. I sort of feel it when you do."

"Should I be leaving now?"

"No, please. I want you to stay the night."

"Liar."

"Ren?" He could not bring himself to say Kylo, not now. "That name you called me."

"What about it?"

"I like it. I do. Just don't use it all the time."

He could _feel_ Ren look at him. One of these days, the whole touchy-feely thing would make him go insane. Now he even imagined the grin on Ren's face, without looking, no need for that.

"Duly noted, general. Permission to speak freely?"

"Sure."

Ren's hand was in his hair before he could twist away, ruffling, tousling, thoroughly messing it up.

"I love that ginger mop. Just _love_ it."

"I hate you."

"I know."

 


End file.
